
OlassJES__3J>iS 

Book JQ.757TV 



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COPYING HT DEPOSIT. 




J. S. HOSSLER. 



POETIC MUSINGS, 



A COLLECTION OF SHORT POEMS. 



BY 

J. S. HOSSLER, 
ROCHESTER, MICH. 



> > :> 



•-, - , ■ • - - ■ ' ' 



1901. 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two CoMfctt Received 

OCT. 19 1901 

Copyright enthv 
CLASS G- XXc N 

GOV.' J. j 



Copyrighted 1901 , 

BY 
JOHN S. HOSSLER. 



0^1 oX 



INDEX. 



Prelude 5 

The Lord's Prayer 5 

The Twenty-third Psalm 6 

To-morrow 7 

Love of Home 9 

1 Don't Care 10 

If You Could Only Know 11 

Lost Time 13 

Man 14 

For Me 15 

Over the River 16 

In Winter 17 

The Seasons 19 

Only a Nigger 20 

The Wind and the Flowers 21 

God Placed It 22 

The River 24 

Evening on the Farm 26 

Haying 27 

The Reason Why 28 

My Childhood Home 29 

Pretty Moon 31 

Scenes at Niagara 32 

Myrtle 34 



4 POETIC MUSINGS. 

Columbus 35 

There's Time 36 

Flossie and Hazel 37 

The Frozen Beggar 38 

A Cigarette's Soliloquy 40 

The Ship That Never Returned 43 

The Teacher's joy 46 

Let Then Rest 49 

The Story of a Bird 50 

To Detroit 51 

Clara Barton 52 

A Batch of Gems 54 

A Morning's Call 55 

Life's Wheel 56 

Thomas Brown 58 

The Lost Daughter 59 

Gladys 62 

The Scold 63 

E Pluribus Unum 65 

Select Recipes for Cheerfulness 66 

Four Sisters 68 

Nellie , 70 

The Wanderer 71 

Miss Crosspatch y^ 

At the judgment 74 

The Phantom Woman 75 

The Tramp Convert 78 

The Messiah 83 



POETIC MUSINGS. 



PRELUDE. 



Come now behold what God hath wrought, 

And read these pages through; 
'Tis God that gives to me the thoughts 

I here record for you; 
'Tis he who clothes the thought in words, 

And gives the grace and rhyme ; 
'Tis he who gives the buoyant thoughts 

Or thoughts of the sublime. 
'Tis God that gives me power to move 

The heart, or please the brain, — 
From sounding forth his works of love, 

I never can refrain. 
He fills with joy my life on earth, 

He prospers all my ways; 
So, if my writings are of worth, 

All give to him the praise. 



THE LORD'S PRAYER. 

Our Father, God, blest Light of Heaven, 
Most hallowed be thy precious name! 

Thy kingdom come — sweet peace — dear Lord, 
And, as in Heaven, in earth the same 

Thy grand and holy will hold sway. 



POETIC MUSINGS. 

That we may know the snares of sin, 
Oh, guide and cheer us day by day ! 
Give us, oh Lord, we humbly pray, 

In mercy, now, our daily bread ; — 
For we are weak and helpless, Lord, 

And, by thy mercy, we are fed. 
Forgive, we pray, in mercy mild, 

All wrongs that we have done to thee, 
As we forgive those wronging us — 

Who or wherever they may be. 
Into temptation lead us not, 

Deliver us from evil ones ; 
For thou art mighty, Lord, to save — 

To thee alone all power belongs. 
The kingdom's thine ; all glory, too, 

Is wholly thine, oh Lord, so 1 then, 
Forever, with a purpose true, 

We'll praise thy holy name — Amen. 



THE TWENTY-THIRD PSALM, 



Judea's Lord my shepherd is; 

No matter what betide, 
I shall not want for aught that's good 

Since Christ, the Crucified, 
Has promised all things to supply; 

His word is sure, I ween; 
He maketh me to lie, in peace, 

Down in his pastures green ; 
He leadeth me, with joy and song, 

The quiet waters by, 



PONTIC MUSINGS. 

So when assailed by grief and sin, 

I to his bosom fly ; 
He quick restoreth me my soul, 

When I transgressions make ; 
He leadeth me in righteousness 

E'en for his own name's sake. 
Should, in my walk, my path lead through 

The shadow deep that lies 
Athwart the valley of grim Death, 

That darkens earth and skies, 
I shall no evil fear, nor ill, 

Nor yet in terror flee; 
For thou art with me, and thy rod 

And staff they comfort me. 
Thou preparest me a table 

When the Evil One connives; 
In the presence of mine enemies 

I eat before their eyes. 
Anointest thou my head with oil, 

Oh, faithful Friend and true; 
My cup is ever full of joy 

And runneth over, too ! 
Thy goodness and thy mercy, sure, 

Shall follow to Death's River ; 
Then I shall dwell, ay, happy thought! 

In the house of the Lord forever. 

TO-MORROW. 

Oh, the wonderful, wonderful, wonderful works 
That some people are going to do ; 

'Twill astound the eyes of the truly wise, 

And puzzle them, through and through ; 



8 POETIC MUSINGS. 

'Twill remove the ban of this vile land; 

But, alas ! friends, I tell yon with sorrow, 
These great and good works these people will do 

On that wonderful day of To-morrow ! 

Oh ! the wonderful, beautiful, dutiful deeds 

Of philanthropy going to be done! 
'Twill cause the cold heart of the miser to melt, 

Like snow when exposed to the sun ; 
'Twill clothe the naked, 'twill feed the poor. 

And relieve those now bowed down with sorrow ; 
But, alas ! for the famishing, naked and ill, 

Our philanthropy, too, waits the morrow. 

Oh, the wonderful, noble, and needful reforms, 

That some people are going to make ; 
Where pleasure and health and cleanliness 

And morals and mind are at stake ; 
From hence we shall speak no more evil, 

From the vulgar, unclean cease to borrow ; 
The lewd and profane, we, too, shall give up — 

No, no ! not to-day, but to-morrow ! 

Oh ! the many, and many, and many vile things, 

We are going to give up to-morrow ! 
The pipe, and the cards, the dice, and the cup — 

The cause of so much pain and sorrow; — 
The noisy revel, the vile cigarette — 

Which causes all bright minds to narrow — 
Backbiting and quarrels, and neighborhood broils 

On that slovenly mind myth, to-morrow. 



POETIC MUSINGS. 

LOVE OF HOME. 

Can any man on God's green earth, 
But love the land which gave him birth? 
Its lofty mountains, brown and sear, 
Which lift their heads high in the air, 
The rugged hills, and valleys near — 
Sublimely bold, yet grandly fair ! 
Or is it plains where, stretching wide 
And oceanlike on every side, 
The thrifty farmer's broad domains 
Are tinged with gold of ripening grains, 
Where waving corn, with forests near, 
Aspire to make the land more dear ; 
The ocean calm, the desert drear, 
The sandy beach where soar and rear 
The whitecaps from the ocean's breast ; 
That land of lands, to man most blest, 
His land — his native land ! 

If such you find from him, refrain ; 

He's soulless or perchance insane ; 

His head is wrong, his brain is weak; 

Or he may be perhaps a sneak, 

Who, fearing the penalty of laws, 

Regards them as the nation's flaws; 

His heart so stony — void of love, 

The works of nature cannot move ; 

No scenes of beauty can inspire 

His soul to seek for something higher; 

He knows no beauty, loves no song, 

And thinks, that all that's right, is wrong; 

And where the patriots joy may see, 

He finds the direst misery ; 

He knows no power to lift or save, 

And has no hope beyond the grave. 



IO PONTIC MUSINGS. 

I DON'T CARE. 

There's a little mischief maker, 

I don't care ! 
She is crafty, cold and cruel — 

Child, beware! 
She is always lurking nigh, 
All remonstrance to defy, 
Never shows the how nor why, 
Neither will she let you try, — 
I don't care! 

There's a little pride destroyer, 

I don't care ! 
If you let her, she'll go with you 

Everywhere ; 
In the school or in the home, 
On the street, where'er you roam,— 
If in your heart she findeth room— 
O'er your face she'll cast a gloom, 
I don't care! 

She's a simple, silly elf; this 
I don't care! 
And she'll not improve herself, 

I declare; 
Till she learns to care and try, 
Seeks to learn the how and why, 
Makes her motto, "I will try," 
Ceases, too, to mope and sigh 
I don't care! 

She's a selfish, ugly elf ; is 
I don't care! 



POETIC MUSINGS. II 

And she thinks, but of herself, 

And her fare ; 
Slow to act and slow to move, 
Gives no smile her love to prove ; 
All her actions will infer, 
That her thought and purpose are, 

I don't care! 

No one likes this sloven imp, 

I don't care ! 
No one wishes her about, 

Anywhere. 
She will fill you with dismay, 
That your patience shall give way, 
Till you'll wish her far away 
Where no more you'd hear her say, 

I don't care! 



IF YOU COULD ONLY KNOW. 

If you could only know, my lad ! 

If you could only know ! 
You'll never see a happier time 

As through this life you go ; 
You'll never be so free, my lad ! 

So free from dulling care; 
So, of all gloom and sad unrest, 

Beware, my lad, Beware ! 

If you could only know, my lad ! 
If you could only know ! 



12 PONTIC MUSINGS. 

You'll never see more precious time 
As through this life you go; 

A firm foundation now to make, 
Which time cannot o'erthrow, 

On which to build a character; — 
Go slow, my lad ! Go slow ! 

If you would only know, my lad ! 

If you would only know ! 
This is the most precarious time — 

'Twill seal your weal or woe — 
For, for such gay and thoughtless youth, 

You'll find there's many a snare ; 
Of pipe and glass and cigarette, 

Beware, my lad, Beware ! 

If you can only see, my lad ! 

If you can only see ! 
This is the time your habits form 

For all eternity; 
Be sure to shun profanity, 

The vulgar, lewd, and mean ; 
And speak not evil nor unkind, — 

Be clean, my lad, Be clean ! 

If you will only try, my lad ! 

If you will only try ! 
You'll reach the highest ladder round 

In triumph, by and by ; 
That honesty is always best 

Store in your heart with care ; 
Of all dishonest words or deeds, 

Beware, my lad, Beware ! 



POETIC MUSINGS. 13 

If you will only wait, my lad ! 

If you will only wait ! 
You may at last be wealthy ; or 

You may, some day, be great ; 
But do not get impatient, lad, 

And of your ill-luck prate, — 
Just go to work and prove your worth ; 

Be great, my lad, Be great ! 



LOST TIME. 

Regard that day, a wasted day, 

Wherein, at set of sun, 
Reflecting back, thou canst recall 

No noble action done ; 
But, though no other chance for good ' 

The quiet day has brought, 
An untold wealth of good is hid 

In pure and holy thought. 

Regard that day as worse than lost, 

Wherein as day is done, 
On looking back, thou canst recall 

Ignoble actions done ; 
But, — though no rude nor boisterous deed, 

Perchance you may have wrought, — 
Remember, sin is but the fruit 

Of vile and sinful thought. 



14 POETIC MUSINGS. 



MAN. 



Man boasts of his great wisdom; and 

He boasts of his great power; 
And reek's not, that he's as the grass, 

Or as the fragile flower; 
He reek's not, that this day he is, 

To-morrow may not be ; 
He's proud and boastful, loud and vain — 

Ay, wholly vanity ! 

Man boasts of his perception ; and 

He boasts a master mind; 
He puffeth up with wisdom, and 

Has clearly, well defined 
The laws by which dame Nature works 

Her wonders to perform ; 
He'll analyze the elements, 

And prophesy the storm. 

Man boasts of his great learning, and 

He talks of wondrous stars ; 
He tells the distance to the sun, 

He weighs the planet Mars ; 
He tells of distant satellites 

Revolving round the sun, 
Extends his vision to the stars, 

He knows them every one. 

Man boasts of his ability 

To make the earth bring forth 
To save the land from famine, and 

That there may be no dearth ; 



. PONTIC MUSINGS. 15 

He's drawn by lightning o'er the earth, 
And glides o'er boisterous seas, 

He travels underneath the hills 
And rides upon the breeze. 

Yes, mighty are the works of man — 

The power that he puts forth ; 
But greater still, the power of wind 

That sweeps down from the north; 
And stronger, yet, the rays of sun, 

That makes the grass to grow; 
And greater is expansion, too, 

That brings the rain and snow. 

Ah ! little worth, the power of men ! 

However much they sow, 
If God withholds his sun and showers, 

In nowise can they mow ; 
If God withdraw his power from man, 

Man's works must straightway fall ; 
For 'tis the Lord, who reigns above, 

Conceives and perfects all. 

FOR ME. 

He left his home near the throne of God, 

He left his home by the Crystal Sea ; 
He left the abode of peace and joy, 

To suffer and die in this world for me. 

He suffered the pangs of blighting scorn, 
He suffered vile sneers, and mockery; 

The crown of thorns, the scourge, the cross, — 
He suffered, he bled, he died for me. 



1 6 PONTIC MUSINGS. 

By death on the cross, he rescued my soul ; 

By death on the cross, he saved me from sin ; 
By death on the cross, he gained Heaven for me — 

He now bids me welcome — I'll soon enter in. 

The Earth hath ne'er known such a fullness of love ; 

The Earth ne'er received such a gift, — all so free ! 
The World were still lost in the caldron of sin, 

Had Jesus not suffered and perished for me. 



OVER THE RIVER. 

Over the river, they beckon to me, — 

Loved ones of earth who have gone on before ; — 
Patiently, lovingly, beckoning come, 

Beckoning on to that evergreen shore. 

Over the river, they're calling to me ; 

Oft, in the night time, sweet voices I hear, — 
Voices of loved ones, long, long gone before, — 

Calling me on to the Savior so dear. 

Over the river, they're waiting for me ; 

Friends of my youth, whom we see here no more, 
Beckoning, calling, and waiting for me, 

To welcome me there on that beautiful shore. 

Over the river, they're sighing for me; 

Sighing that I am surrounded by sin ; 
Hoping and sighing and waiting for me, 

Waiting in Glory, to welcome me in. 



PONTIC MUSINGS. 17 

Over the river, they're praying for me; 

Praying that I may be saved from all sin, 
Praying, ah, pleading ! the Father in Heaven, 

That he will forgive me and welcome me in. 

Over the river they're hoping for me; 

Father and mother, and sister so fair ; 
Brothers, who passed in the morning of life, 

Wishing and hoping — I soon shall be there. 

Over the river, he's waiting for me ; 

Jesus of Nazareth, patient and fair ; 
Beckoning, calling, and pleading for me, 

Hoping to welcome me home over there. 



IN WINTER. 

Oh, the cruel, cruel blast ! winter blast ! 

How it cuts and how it burns as it goes past ; 

In the darksome hours of night, 

Deep its sting and deep its bite 

As it hurries on its journey o'er the earth ; 

Stopping, just enough to stay 

Till it takes your breath away 

In its flight ; 

Then 'twill puff and moan and roar, 

In its wrath and mighty power, 

Till it passes through the trees, 

With a whistle, moan and wheeze, 

When it sinks into a breeze, 

And is gone. 



l8 POETIC MUSINGS. 

Oh, the cold and drifting snow ! shifting snow ! 

How it fills all paths and highways where we go ; 

Through the day and through the night, 

This winter's storm, so cold and white, 

Slowly falls until it covers all the earth ; 

Then it piles, it heaps, it drifts, 

Then it crawls, and creeps and sifts 

At its will 

'Round the window, 'neath the door, 

Crawling, drifting, 'long the floor ; 

Makes the trees and hedges hoar, 

Covers all the landscape o'er, — 

Then the storm clouds break once more 

And are gone. 

Oh, the slippery, glary ice ! treacherous ice ! 

For every evil 'neath the sun it will suffice ; 

Yet it worketh much of good — 

We'd not miss it if we could 

With the joy of skimming o'er its face so smooth ;- 

But 'twill burst the urn or jar, 

Dainty vases, from afar, 

Break in twain ; 

Then take heed of where you step — 

Careless feet will surely slip; — 

Lest perchance that you may fall, 

Heed you, quickly, dangers call — 

Careless feet will slip and sprawl — 

So take care. 



PONTIC MUSINGS. 19 



THE SEASONS. 



Our early life is a bright spring day, 
When the air it is mild and all nature is gay, 
When, smiling and soft, is the clear sunny sky, 
And gentle the zephyrs that wander by , 
While voices of songsters are heard on the air, 
Telling of gladness and freedom from care. 

The prime of our life is a summer day; 
When, busily, nature is working away — 
The time for the planting and hoeing and so, 
When the golden grain and the luscious fruits grow ; 
When man works away, with a care and a will, 
Ere coming of winter, his garners to fill. 

Decline is a day in the chilling fall ; 
With its clouds, and its frosts, and its gales, and all ; 
When we gather the fruits of the summer's toil 
'Mid the darkness and gloom and stormy broil , 
And store up the fruits in our cellars to save — 
No mind is at rest, all worry and slave. 

The day of death is a winter's day; 

Both our gladness and cares are all passed away ; 

The cold dew of winter lies thick on our brow — 

It gives us no trouble ; we feel it not now *, 

We heed not the weather, though sunny, though drear ; 

The dust claims our frame,— 'tis the end of the year. 



20 POETIC MUSINGS. 

ONLY A NIGGER. 

"Only a Nigger!" a white man said, 

And, coldly sneering, he turned away; 
As the curious people gathered around 

Where the lifeless form of a Negro lay; 
Shot by the hand of a fellow-man, 

Whom God had blessed with a skin more fair ; 
Shot like a dog ! and in purity, 

Suffered and died in the gutter there. 

"Only a Nigger !" the coroner said, 

But he must be borne from the street away ; 
So he roughly tumbled him into a box, 

And hurriedly covered him over with clay ; 
Marked not the spot by marble nor wood, 

Said not a prayer o'er that lowly bed, 
Told not the good that he often had done — 

"Buried a Nigger!" was all that he said. 

"Only a Nigger!" his honor said, 

As he heard his cause set forth in court ; 
"Only a Nigger put out of the way" — ■ 

What matter? and cut the proceedings short! 
"It's only a blessing, he's out of the way, 

And no harm done," is the voice of this court ; 
And so he turned, with a chuckle and leer, 

To dismiss the case, with a rousing cheer. 

"Only a Nigger !" the people said, 

And the tale was told by many a one ! 

"Only a Nigger ! the Judge did right ; 

Dismissed the case, his work is done;" 



POETIC MUSINGS. 21 

For, although he never did one harm, 

And was rather a good man, on the whole, 

His hair is wool, his skin is black, 

He's ignorant, and he has no soul. 

'Only a Nigger !" nay, now, not so ! 

'Twas a child of the God of love ; 
Only a Negro, endowed with life, 

And known by the Giver of Life, above; 
Created, like you, by the same great God, 

Of a common breath and a common clod, 
With a soul, that white as yours shall be 

When he awakes in eternity. 



THE WIND AND THE FLOWERS. 

Oh, dear ! we're so cold, said the flowers one day, 

The air is so chilly and gloom ; 
The wind is so rude that he tears off our robes 

And leaves us all naked and numb; 
We fear we shall die 'ere the morning; 

We can feel the damp chill of the tomb, 
Our pulses are failing within us so fast, — 

The cold, cruel winter has come. 

Oho ! call me rude, roared the wind in a rage, 

Now, look for no mercy from me ! 
Then he puffed and he blew, he wheezed and he tore, 

And wildly shrieked out in mad glee. 
Ha, ha ! you shall die, I will blow you away, 

Or I'll bury you far under ground ; 
Then he piled high the leaves, above them there 

'Till they could no longer be found. 



22 PONTIC MUSINGS. 

There, now ! I guess I have silenced those flowers ; 

Such impudence, seldom, we hear ! 
Then away, on his mission of mischief, he sped, 

With a shriek, and a groan, and a cheer. 
Then the leaves embraced the failing flowers, — 

Like a carpet they covered their forms, 
To protect from the wind in his wild rage, 

To shield from the frosts and the storms. 

Then down through the air, on tiny white wings, 

Glancing and whirling around, 
Came myriad hosts of tiny white things, 

That softly flew down to the ground ; 
And formed, as it were, a blanket of wool, 

That was spotless, and pure, and so white , 
Where warmly the flowers reposed in their bed, 

Nor dreaded the angry wind's might. 

Then warmly they slept through the long winter days, 

Till waked by the glad, joyous sound 
Of the voices of spring, that made the woods ring, 

That bade them come forth from the ground; 
But the cold, cruel wind never knew 

Of the kindness he did to the flowers ; 
That, though he had buried them out of his sight, 

He had saved them to grace the spring hours. 



GOD PLACED IT. 

There's not a creature walks the earth, 
A fish that swims the sea ; 

Nor yet a songster in the grove, 
A thrush or chickadee; 



PONTIC MUSINGS. 23 

There's not a serpent crawls the earth, 

Nor bird that flies the air, 
Nor insect chirping, 'rieath our feet, 

But God hath placed it there. 

There's not a green and shady grove, 

A quiet, peaceful dell, 
Nor pleasant woodland on the slope, 

Nor copse upon the swell ; 
No tree upon the mountain side, — 

No pine nor maple fair, 
No vine — no grape, nor ivy green — 

But God hath placed it there. 

There's not a tint that decks the flowers, 

A perfume scents the rose; 
Nor yet a lily in the glens 

Where fern and violet blows ; 
There's not a bloom to grace the hedge, — 

Sweet thorn nor primrose fair, — 
Nor aught, that's sweet and beautiful, 

But God hath placed it there. 

There's not a tint of red nor gold 

Upon the eastern sky; 
Nor yet a hue to tinge the clouds, 

That slowly float on high; 
There's not a ray of morning sun, 

A noontime's blinding glare, 
There's not a shade of midnight black, 

But God hath placed it there. 

There's not a silvery streamlet glides, 
A brook that murmurs by, 



24 PONTIC MUSINGS. 

Nor peaceful lake, that, mirrorlike, 
Reflects the deep blue sky ; 

There's not a fount, a gushing spring, 
No ocean, wild and bare, 

Nor river rushing toward the sea, 
But God hath placed it there. 

There's not a field of rustling corn, 

No field of golden grain, 
No pleasant, verdant pastures, . 

And no cotton plants, nor cane; 
No luscious fruits upon the crees, 

No beauty anywhere, 
And naught to please our every sense, 

But God hath placed it there. 

There's not a shadow clouds the mind, 

A care that weighs the heart ; 
There's not a thought of aught that's good, 

The conscience feels no smart, 
There's no conviction fills the soul, 

No thoughts of evil stare, 
No sweet contentment fills the mind, 

But God hath placed it there. 



THE RIVER. 

I spring from the ground, in a cool shady glen, 

High up in the hills far away, 
Where the tall tree tops wave as the soft breezes pass, 

And the birds sing sweet songs all the day. 



POETIC MUSINGS. 25 

I glance and I glide, and I slip and I slide 

Adown through dark crannies and nooks, 

And I dance and I sing, and I loiter and spring, 
And I then hasten on to the brooks. 

I babble and fall o'er the steep mountain wall, 

And bound back in air as a mist, 
Where the Lord sets his bow, and soft rosy tints glow, 

Whenever by sunbeams I'm kissed. 

I eddy, I whirl, I bubble and purl, 

And hasten adown through the shadow, 

Where the fox comes to drink, and the rat builds his home, 
Then on through the green fragrant meadow. 

By bridges I'm crossed, and to mankind I'm lost, 

As I plunge into deep wildernesses; 
And the dry, barren held, will blossom and yield, 

As its parched banks my current caresses. 

The spotted trout darts through my deep, shady pools, 

The little girls plash in my shallows; 
And boys love to bathe in my clear crystal depths, 

Or lounge on my banks 'neath the willows. 

I nourish the valleys, I turn the great mills, 

I bear the proud ships to the sea ; — 
Be it bustle of midday, or silence of night, 

I am busy as busy can be. 

But onward, still onward, by village and town, 
Through woodland and meadow and lea, 

I haste to my rest, on the calm peaceful breast, 
Of the beautiful, wonderful sea. 



26 POETIC MUSINGS. 

EVENING ON THE FARM. 

Slowly, now, the shadows gathering, 

Slowly fades the light of day ; 
Faintly hear the cow-bells tinkling, 

Lambs are bleating far away ; 
Homeward, now, the cows are wending, 

Pigs are squealing for their fare, 
And the laugh of children playing, 

Sounds upon the balmy air. 

Merrily, now, the sturdy yeoman, 

Hies him to his nightly chores ; 
Feeds the weary horses, neighing, 

Brings the wood from out of doors; 
Hunts the eggs and feeds the chickens, 

Throws down hay from off the mow, 
Then, in answer to her lowing, — 

Milks the gentle, waiting cow. 

Gladly now the weary farmer, 

Seeks his household, cheery, bright, 
For the twinkling stars inform him 

Day has given place to night; 
There he joins in cheery converse, 

Wit and humor flowing free ; 
Laughs to hear the children prattle, 

Jogs the baby on his knee. 

Soon he hears his wife's sweet singing, 
Gladly joins her in her song, 

Sweetly blend their tones in concord, 
As their hearts have blended long ; 



POETIC MUSINGS. 27 

Quickly, then, the hour passes, 

When the evening prayers are said, 

Then, with hearts so light and happy, 
Each one gladly seeks his bed. 

Soon the household sinks in slumber, 

Calm and peaceful, sweet they sleep, 
For their hearts conceive no evil, — 

'Tis the wicked fear and weep ; — 
Sweet the dreams that bless their slumbers, 

Free from every thought of harm; 
Oh, how blessed ! and oh how happy, 

He who labors on the farm ! 

HAYING. 

This is the way we cut the hay — ■ 

Cut the hay to make the hay : 

Clickety, clatter, the mower goes 

From the morning's dawn till the evening's rose, 

Backward and forward, forward and back, 

With many a clatter and many a clack, 

Forward and backward, the livelong day, 

Singing this brisk little roundelay, 

Clickety, clickety, clickety, clickety, 

Clickety, clickety, clickety, clack! 

This is the way we shake the hay — 
Shake the hay to make the hay : 
Bury the fork in the fragrant grass, 
Then through the air we make it pass, 
Flippety, floppety, shakety, shake, — 
Thick green bunches must loosen and break, 
Break and loosen and scatter about, 



28 POETIC MUSINGS. 

That the sun and the wind may dry them out ; — 
Pitching and spreading and shaking away — 
This is the way we make the hay. 

This is the way we rake the hay — 
Rake the hay to take the hay : 
Hitch the horse to the rake and then, 
This way, and that way, again and again, 
That way and this way, dogging and tripping, 
Watching the rake, lest it might be skipping, 
Raking, and clumping, in rows or in blocks, 
Then the haymakers will make it in cocks, 
Raking and dumping and bunching away, — 
This is the way we gather the hay. 

This is the way we draw the hay — 

Draw the hay to store the hay : 

Pitch to the wagon, and spread it 'round, 

Treading it well, and keeping it bound ; 

Treading and spreading and binding away, 

So that the load will have to stay; — 

Stay where it's placed, through the rolling and 

rocking 
Of drawing it home, over roads, most shocking, 
Pitching it off to be mowed in the bay, — 
This is the way we draw the hay. 

THE REASON WHY. 

Mamma, when I go to bed, 

I do not cover up my head, 

Nor hide my eyes, so I can't see, 

For fear that something's after me, — 



•POETIC MUSINGS. 29 

A ghost, or wolf, or big black bear, 
Or anything, to hurt or scare 
A little boy like me. 

Mamma, when I wake at night 

I do not hide my head with fright, 

Afraid that maybe I shall hear 

A groan or screech or something queer 

To make me lie and shake with fear, 

Lest then and there shall soon appear 

Some fearful thing to see. 

For when I am alone, you see, 
I know the Lord will care for me; 
He has such eyes that he can see — 
Right in the dark — just where I be; 
So when I've said my prayers at night 
I know that I shall be all right, 
For Jesus loves and cares for me. 



MY CHILDHOOD HOME. 

A modest house, not grand, nor wide, 
Half up the hill, on the sunny side, 
Amidst the rose and lilac's maze, 
And kissed by the sun's first golden rays, 
Where the flowers bloomed in the early spring, 
And sweet were the songs that the birds would sing, 
And the deathwatch ticked to the cricket's horn, — 
The dear little home, where I was born. 

A bright greenwood, not far away, 
Where gay squirrels frolicked all the clay, 



30 POKTIC MUSINGS. 

A hill, to break the northern blast, 

Where the timid fox and the hound sped past, 

And the mallows patch, and the sumac tree, 

And the tansy bed — all so dear to me — 

And the sty for the pigs, and the crib for the corn, 

All stood near the home where I was born. 

An old gray barn with modest bay — 
'Twould scarce suffice for the winter's hay — 
With its breakneck scaffolds, high aloof, 
Its swallows twittering near the roof 
Where pattered the rain of the stormy day, 
And the wasp built his nest, far out of the way ; 
While the rat made his home 'neath the stable floor, 
This, the old barn, where I frolicked of yore. 

A crystal fount of water bright — 
To thirsty man, what a great delight, — 
Gushed forth near by, beneath the hill, 
And formed a murmuring rippling rill, 
Reflecting its banks and the trees close by, 
And the laughing face of the sunny sky ; 
Ay ! often I've paused on its grassy brink — 
That dear old spring where I used to drink. 

Row upon row, and tree upon tree ; 
Apples and peaches, so tempting, ah, me! 
Peaches ripe, so soft and mellow, 
And peaches white, and peaches yellow ; 
And apples, such as you seldom see, 
Apples, that finer ne'er hung on a tree ; 
Fruit of whose beauty my tongue cannot tell, 
This, our old orchard, I loved, oh, so well ! 



POETIC MUSINGS. 31 

And oft my heart will yearn again 
To see those sights of yore ; and then 
To hear the songs, so sweet and mild, 
That mother sang to soothe her child. 
Oh, that I were back in that home again ! 
With a heart as light and as free from pain 
As when a mere child with no thought of care, 
With father and mother to comfort me there. 



PRETTY MOON. 

Pretty moon, pretty moon ! what do you see 
From your throne in the deep blue sky ? 
Floating so calmly the whole night through, 
In the balmy air and the evening's dew, 
Bathing the hills with thy soft pale light, 
Blessings upon thee, thou Queen of the Night ! 

Pretty moon, pretty moon ! what do you see 
From your starry banner on high ? 
Oh, mountains of misery, lo, I see ; 
And mountains of woe appear unto me, 
With oceans of happiness, rivers of glee, 
And pleasures, as deep as the roaring sea. 

Pretty moon, pretty moon ! what do you see 

From your throne near the Milky Way ? 

I see a world of children there, 

Whose young hearts are merry and free from care ; 

Gladly they play in my beaming light — 

Blessings upon them, I shower to-night. 



32 POETIC MUSINGS. 

Pretty moon, pretty moon ! what do you see 

From your crystal throne above ? 

I see a youth and a maiden sweet, 

Who stand where the morn and the midday meet, 

With no thought of care ; and their glad hearts are light, 

Ah ! precious the vows, they are making to-night. 

Pretty moon, pretty moon ! peep once again 

Through your cloudy curtain above; 

Ah, lo ! I see a home so bright, 

Where kindness and love are the chief delight, 

Where children prattle in childish glee; 

Oh ! what a blessing such a home must be ! 

Pretty moon, pretty moon ! what do you hear 
From your seat in the evening sky ? 
Aye ! feeble the voices I now hear speak 
From the hoary head and the sunken cheek ; 
Their life's work is ended ; their last tears are wept ; 
They are speaking of promises faithfully kept. 

Silent moon, silent moon ! what do you see 

From your beautiful height in the sky? 

Behold a pall, two placid forms ; 

Two hulks now yield to this life's mad storms. 

With thoughts of bereavement young eyes now o'erflow, 

Kind clouds, spread your curtain o'er all that's below. 

SCENES AT NIAGARA. 

Behold the mighty works of God ! 

Mark how the mists obey His will ! 
Conceited wretch ! worm of the clod, 

Now look, thou, on and be thou still ; - 



POETIC MUSINGS. 33 

Nor boast not from this very hour, 
Of thy great wisdom nor thy power. 

Behold the mighty works of God ! 

Mark how the torrents downward roll ; 
Attempting not to scale their banks, 

But hastening onward to the goal ; 
Nor stopping once to turn aside, 
Fulfill their purpose in their pride. 

Behold the mighty wrath of God ! 

See how the surges rage and swell 
About the dreadful whirlpool's mouth, 

To symbolize the gates of Hell ; 
With subtle power to draw within, 
To represent the power of sin. 

Behold the mighty wrath of God ! 

Gigantic rocks are rent in twain ; 
The surges boil, and foam like yeast, 

They splash, then hasten on again, 
With swish and moan, from hour to hour, 
But naught can stay their mighty power. 

Behold the peace and rest of God ! 

How calm and still yon river lies, 
As if 'twere nature's final sleep, 

And mirror-like reflects the skies, 
To teach this truth for you to keep, 
Smooth glide the waters that are deep. 



34 POETIC MUSINGS. 

MYRTLE. 

Her face is as bright as the morning ; 

A glad joyous morning in spring, 
With the blitheness and beauty and sunshine, 

That early spring mornings will bring- 
After long cruel winter has vanished, 

And the clouds and the snowstorms are gone, 
When gladly all nature is waking to life, 

And the time of rejoicing has come. 

She has eyes like the shining drops of dew, 

That dance in the morning's bright glow ; 
As calm and as soft as the roe gazelle's, 

And a heart as pure as the snow ; 
Her cheeks are as fair as the lily white, 

Yet tinged with the tints of the rose, 
And a laugh like the song of the rippling brook, 

Which murmurs and purls as it flows. 

She has soft and glossy, brown silken hair — 

A corona round her sweet face — 
Where always there shines the brightest of smiles, 

A frown there could never find place ; 
Her fresh, rosy lips, her sweet modest air, 

Her kindly and innocent mien — 
Oh ! she is as dear as the myrtle fair, 

That oft in our gardens is seen. 

Aye ! she captures our hearts so completely — 

Her joyous and innocent glee — 
Ah, no ! none could help but to love the sweet elf, 

So frank and so pure and so free. 
Methinks that the angels in Heaven above, 

Where all are so pure and so bright, 
Would gladly accept in yon mansions of love, 

This orb of bright sunshine and light. 



POETIC MUSINGS. " 35 

COL.UMBUS. 

Down in the balmy southern land, 
Where flowers bloom on every hand, 
Beside the river, broad and deep, 
Whose lashing waves sweet rhythm keep, 
And fringed by woodlands, wide and fair, 
Or verdant fields of beauty rare, 
Where health fulness and beauty vie 
Beneath the smiling azure sky, 
Where e'en the stranger's joy is full, 
Columbus stands, the beautiful. 

How grand the mornings open there, 
With zephyrs soft and balmy air, 
While from the sun each drop of dew 
Assumes a sparkling radiant hue, 
And drops in brilliant showers of pearls, 
Or sparkle there like eyes of girls, 
Along the broad and spacious streets — 
More beautiful than one oft meets — 
The picture there before your eyes, 
Columbus, seems a Paradise. 

Oft through her streets, at close of day, 

As sunlight shaded into gray, 

Or flecks of cloud in sunset gold, 

Like wandering sheep did seek their fold — 

There have I slowly strolled along — 

Her very life seemed but a song, 

All tuned in perfect harmony ; 

For here was peace and joy and glee ; 

While from the windows open near, 

Came sounds of mirth and joyous cheer. 



3^ POETIC MUSINGS. 

How dear her people ! true and tried, 
Who smiling greet from every side ; 
Whose hearts with brotherhood are stirred 
To have for each a pleasant word. 
The stranger lodged within her gate — 
Although not wealthy, grand nor great — 
If his deportment trust commends, 
Will find a host of honest friends. 
So, though I'm far away, ah me ! 
My heart is still bound up in thee. 



THERE'S TIME. 

"There's a time for everything under the sun," 
When birth has arrived Death is hastening on ; 
When Death has arrived, the Judgment will come, 
Then Heaven or Hell will come after. 

"There's a time for everything under the sun," 
But of time to waste, there is certainly none, 
From life's early morn, till life's setting sun, 
Shall call us to join the hereafter. 

"There's a time for everything under the sun," 
A time for our grief and a time for our fun ; 
For our duties and pleasures, every one, 
For labor and frolic and laughter. 

There's a time for our sadness, a time for joy, 
A time for things pleasant, and things that annoy ; 
But no time is given but we should employ, 
Else we shall regret it thereafter. 



PONTIC MUSINGS. 37 

There's a time to sow, and a time to reap; 
A time for our labors, a time for our sleep ; 
There's a joyous time and a time, too, to weep, 
If we carelessly court dire disaster. 

There's a time for darkness, a time for day, 
A time to command and a time to pray ; 
And a time to succor, a time, too, to stay, 
And a time to worship the Master. 

There's a time for scorn, and a time to be meek ; 
A time for plain language, a time to be sleek ; 
A time for aversion, a time for love, 
A time for inaction, and time, too, to move. 

There's a time for peace, and a time for war, 
And a time to build and to sew, and to tear ; 
There's time for all ; but there's plenty to do, 
And a time to prepare for judgment, too. 



FLOSSIE AND HAZEL. 

Flossie and Hazel are two pretty girls, 
Cheeks like the roses, embroidered with curls ; 
Eyes aping diamonds, and teeth white as pearls, 
Rollicking, frollicking, rollicking girls ! 

Flossie and Hazel are two busy girls ; 
Quickly on errands each little foot whirls ; 
Backward sweet kisses each little hand hurls, 
Happy and hearty and dutiful girls ! 



3& PONTIC MUSINGS. 

Flossie and Hazel are good little girls ; 

Never are saucy, nor ever in quarrels ; 

Always sweet-tempered when harsh words are hurled, 

Beautiful actions, those dear little girls ! 

Flossie and Hazel are true Christian girls ; 
Never their faces are wrinkled with snarls ; 
Sweet little prayers each night to God purls, 
Every one loves them, those dear little girls ! 

THE FROZEN BEGGAR. 

'Twas a stormy day in winter time, 

And dark clouds stretched athwart the gloom ; 
When a poor old beggar wandered out 

To beg for bread — he had no home — 
His all had been given in charity, 

While his heart and hands were strong, 
So now, when his hands are poor and weak, 

He is bade to pass along. 

The wind had risen to a gale ; 

The air was full of blinding sleet, 
Which, freezing fast, formed a coat of mail, 

And pools of slush benumbed his feet ; 
The cruel ice would, too, form in his hair; 

While his garments, so worn and thin, 
Sufficed not to keep the coldness out, 

Nor to keep the warmth within. 

All through that cold and stormy day, 

He had braved the wind and the sleet, 

He was weak and faint and hungry, too, 
For he had had nothing to eat. 



POETIC MUSINGS. 39 

He had hailed many beautiful houses, 

Well blessed with plenteous store, 
But none would give ear to his pleadings, and 

He had found not, an open door. 

So then as the darkness gathered 

At the close of that dreary day, 
The hope and strength of this wanderer 

Began to flag and give way; 
Then he looked at the rows of dark houses, 

Which there as in mockery stood, 
He saw there the tokens of plenty, 

Warm fires, and clothing, and food. , 

Darker and darker grew the night, 

But his heart was more darksome yet, 
Till he thought, how Christ had stilled the waves, 

And the winds, on Gennesaret ; 
And he thought of Dives and Lazarus, too, 

How Death had made all things right, 
And he wondered, if Christ still loved beggars ; 

And if he were watching that night. 

Fiercer and colder, blew the wind 

From his icy throne in the North, 
The dread sleet changed to a driving snow, 

Yet the beggar wandered forth 
Alone, in the storm and the dreadful gloom, 

Through that midnight's piercing air, — 
His brain was numb, and his limbs were weak, 

Then he stumbled, and fell on the glare. 

His frame now ceased to shake from cold, 
And his sight became a mere flare ; 



40 PONTIC MUSINGS. 

He lifted his face to the darksome gloom, 
And thought of dear friends up there ; 

He thought of the ones, who refused him aid,- 
Now each asleep in his bed, — 

"Father, forgive them," he murmured low, 
And those were the last words he said. 

The cruel wind had sank to rest, 

The dreary clouds had passed away; 

When a watchman, startled, stood aghast 
To find on his beat at the break of day, 

In a ridge of drifted snow, 

A poor old man ensheathed with ice, 

Who had perished there in the floe. 

Strange and curious were the eyes 

That gazed on him that day; 
But some were struck with horror dumb and 

In deep remorse they turned away ; 
For they had refused to give him aid as 

He pleaded with them in his woe — 
God grant that we may never see, 

Such a death in the ice and snow. 

A CIGARETTE'S SOLILOQUY. 

I am only a little cigarette ; 

So dainty, neat, and white ; 
I am the young men's idol, and 

I am the boy's delight. 
By many fair young ladies, too, 

I'm held in high esteem, — 
They would not be without me ; and — 

So pleasant do I seem 



POETIC MUSINGS. 41 

That modern social gatherings, 

No matter when nor where, 
Are not considered up to date, 

If I am wanting there. 

Yes, only a little cigarette ! 

But I'm a king of might; 
My power I show where'er I go, 

Regardless of the right; 
The thoughtless swains I bind with chains ; 

And, — by their kind consent, — 
I take control of nerves and brain, 

Lest they, perchance, repent; 
I bind their mind, and judgment too, 

I mark them as my treasure, 
Till they become poor helpless wrecks, 

When they repent at leisure. 

Ah, only a little cigarette ! 

But I'm a despot vile; 
I chase the sunshine from the heart, 

And from the lips the smile ; 
I drive the luster from the eye, 

And from the cheek the bloom, 
I cause young lives to fade away 

And hasten to the tomb. 
I change the merry laughs to groans, 

The sunny smiles to sighs, 
That all may feel the deadly power, 

That in my being lies. 

Ay ! only a little cigarette ! 
But a king of cruel reign, 



42 POETIC MUSINGS. 

I bind my friends to misery, 

As with an iron chain ; 
I ruin body, ruin mind, 

I dull the cunning brain — 
To strive to loose my cruel grasp 

Is but to strive in vain ; 
For he who yields him to my power 

Is quickly bound, you see, 
That, though remorse may fill his heart, 

He never shall be free. 

Yea, I'm a little cigarette ! 

A hypocrite, indeed! 
I cause the head to rack with pain, 

I cause the heart to bleed ; 
I cause the nerves to lose their power, 

The muscles, I make weak; 
I bring a dulness to the eye, 

A pallor to the cheek ; 
I cause the breath to noxious grow, 

The teeth to soon decay ; — 
Ah ! many are the wrecks I've made, 

My power to display. 

Yes, only a little cigarette ! 

But, oh ! if man were wise, 
If he but knew the deadly power 

That in my being lies ; 
If he but knew the dulling pain, — 

The fruitage of my ban — 
If boys but knew that puffing me, 

Could never make a man, 
If all but knew, I'm deadlier 

Than pipe or vile cigar, 
My reign would then be ended ; I 

No more would be a star. 



POETIC MUSINGS. 43 

THE SHIP THAT NEVER RETURNED. 

The sea had sank to a perfect calm, no breezes whispered 

by, 

And little flecks of silvery clouds rode slowly o'er the 

sky; 
The city on that harbor lay, in quiet peace, asleep, 
Its towering spires and spacious wharves reflected in the 

deep. 
Ay! bright and warm the morning's sun and bright and 

clear the air, 
While old men smiled and prophesied the weather would 

be fair. 

A queenly ship, both tall and grand, lay moored at the 
wharf that day, 

And time had come to say good-bye — she would straight- 
way heave away ; 

All hearts beat light and joyous then, for no danger 
augured near, 

Until a curse was uttered by a stranger on the pier ; 

Though none there knew this strange wild man, who 
spoke so firm and bold, 

Yet, not a heart that sailed that day, but at his words 
grew cold. 

Now all give ear and mark me well, who sails away this 

morn, 
The sea shall be thy winding 'sheet, not one shall e'er 

return ; 
For Death and dire destruction now press close upon thy 

track, — 
Oh, Captain! vile and full of sin! Oh, never more sail 

back ! 



44 POETIC MUSINGS. 

The God, in anger, seeks thee now, whose power thou'st 

oft denied ; 
And all who sail with thee to-day shall perish at thy side. 

The captain shouted, from the rail, though his heart was 

like a clod; 
I defy your power; so do your worst! defy you and your 

God! 
But in his heart there lurked a dread, that day, as he 

onward sailed, — 
He cursed the sea, he cursed the crew, he swore and raved, 

and railed; 
A storm was raging in his mind, a tempest in his breast, 
And in the midst of that gay crowd, his heart could find 

no rest. 

Again, the voyagers were gay, their cheeks no longer pale ; 

The ship scarce moved, for the gentle breeze would 
scarcely spread a sail; 

But 'ere the close of that sad day, a wind came from the 
west, 

That gallant ship leaped like a hound, the wild waves 
splashed and sissed ; 

Dark, threatening, whirling, angry clouds soon obscured 
the sky, 

The tempest shrieked, the mad sea boiled, and the light- 
ning flashed on high ; 

Amid the din and tumultuous roar, the captain stood 

aghast, 
As he saw the morning's stranger, stern, seated upon the 

mast; 
But no other seaman saw him there, though he strained 

his sight in vain, — 



POETIC MUSINGS. 45 

For the phantom sat not on the mast, 'twas in his fevered 

brain; 
He loudly laughed at thought of ill — his ship would 

stand the strain; — 
And with an oath for his brave men, he went below again. 

At ten o'clock the sails give way ; at twelve the masts are 

gone; 
And at three, the hull, a helpless wreck, is drifting wildly 

on; 
The pumps are stilled, the mate has said that pumping is 

in vain ; 
The boats are launched, but the captain vile, ne'er trod 

that deck again : 
A gallant tar who went below his worthless life to save, 
Had found a former pleasant berth, the captain's dreary 

grave. 

When morning dawned upon the deep, the storm had 

passed away, 
The bright sun tinged the waves with gold, set rainbows 

in the spray 
That rose where the waves broke o'er the rocks near where 

that vessel lay, 
Where she struck the reef and foundered at near the 

break of day. 
But where that mate, and gallant crew — the waves, alone, 

have learned, 
Who sailed away that morning on the ship that never 

returned. 



46 POETIC MUSINGS. 

THE TEACHER'S JOY. 

Oh ! sad and wan was the Teacher's face, 

Oh, his heart was cold and lone ! 
For school had dismissed in a gloom that day, 

And the children had homeward gone, 
But left no assurance of warm hearts true 
As a parting smile or a good-night to you. 

So now with a sad and aching heart 

He musingly sat in his chair, 
And naught can he think has he done that day 

That had been unjust nor unfair. 
He wonders how children can be so rude 
To one who so gladly would do them good. 

In sorrow he sat in deepest thought, 

And he meditated long ; 
But he could not see, in the least, where he 

Had treated a child unjust or wrong ; 
He knew that a chill had come over their hearts — 
Ah, cruel neglect ! how it burns and smarts ! 

Ah, here lies the cause ! his own tried nerves ! 

Yes, they bend beneath the strain; 
The fault was not, in the least, from the heart, — 

'Twas the works of a weary, care-worn brain; 
So he drops his head on his arms and prays 
That the Lord will teach him in wisdom's ways. 

And oh ! how his soul does long and yearn 

The return of those glad days 
When the children were happy and loved to learn, 

And to please him in all their ways; 



PONTIC MUSINGS. 47 

'. 

And he vows, if the Lord will restore him their Love 
He will give to God the praise. 

A soft light tread is heard on the step, 

A face peeps in at the door — 
The same little girl that, only that day, 

He had had standing out on the floor 
For laughing ; besides, throwing chalk at the boys, 
Neglecting her studies, and making much noise. 

Then soft and clear was the sweet young voice 

That merrily sounds on his ear, 
What keeps you so late? Why, Teacher's asleep! 

And his work isn't done, I declare! 
Well now ! I think you had better wake up ! 
I must get me a drink ! Why, there's dirt on the cup ! 

You look so tired ; or are you sick ? 

Why don't you smile any more? 
Is it 'cause we children make so much noise, 

And then have to stand on the floor? 
Is it 'cause we are naughty and won't be good? 
Would you feel better, and smile, if we would? 

You would ! well, then, I intend to see 

If I can make you feel glad! 
I'm going to be just awfully good, 

I won't make a noise, nor rattle the wood ; 
I will study and learn just all that I can; — 
For I think you are a very fine man. 

We all think you are so very nice 

When you look so pleasant and kind ; 

When you smile upon us, we love you so well — 
Oh, dear ! so much that I never could tell ; 



48 POETIC MUSINGS. 

We then just can't help but to mind, don't you see? 
I like you, Teacher, now don't you like me? 

What a wonderful world of relief 

Her sweet word seemed to impart ! 
He snatched the little maid up in his arms, 

And clasped her up close to his heart ; 
While she said, laughing out in her childish glee, 
I like you, Teacher, because you like me. 

So lightened his heavy spirit then, 

That his work was soon complete ; 
And then, hand in hand with the little child, 

He passed lightly along the street. 
Said the child, when she turned at the corner nigh, 
With a bright sweet smile, "Now, Teacher, good-bye." 

And so when that Teacher knelt in prayer 

That night, ere he sought repose, 
He paid God his vow ; and gave him the praise 

For hearing and healing his woe; 
And, in dreams of that night, he laughed out in his glee, 
At "I like you, Teacher, now don't you like me?" 

Just so, as we pass along our way, 

There's many a one that we meet 
Who needs but a smile or a loving word 

To make his life bright, and his joy complete; 
So just say, and his doubts and sorrows will flee, 
"I like you, brother, and hope you like me." 



POETIC MUSINGS. 49 

LET THEM REST. 

Let them rest in peace together ! — 

They the red-coats, and the blue, 
They who perished here together 

As they fought with brave hearts true ; 
Fought to shield their cherished ensign, 

Sought to keep its honor bright, 
Each heart faithful to its country, 

Trusting that her cause was right. 

What a change has now come o'er them ! 

Since they met that carnage dire, 
Plunged into the roar of battle — 

Hail of lead and rain of fire, — 
Thunder booms, the cannon's mouthing, 

Groans of dying everywhere, 
But each thought him of his country, — 

Dared to perish for it there. 

Let them rest ! their strife is ended ! 

Now they hear no bugle 'larm — 
We, their sons, for whom they perished, 

Now must shield their graves from harm. 
We regard them, not as foemen, 

Though they strove together here, 
For they'll see and act together, 

At their waking over there. 

Let them rest ! for thoughts of anger 
No more stir their quiet breasts ; 

'Twas not malice, but wrong judgment 
Caused their hearts that mad unrest. 

Each one thought he did his duty ; 

Each one thought that he was right ; 



50 POETIC MUSINGS. 

So, each one shall be a hero 

Now in our, their children's sight. 

Let them rest in peace together ! 

They are all of English blood — 
That the Saxons strive together, 

Surely, that cannot be good ! 
Plainly, we should cease to quarrel ; 

But with hearts, that's tried and true, 
Live in peace and love together, 

Honest, peaceful, — friends adieu! 



THE STORY OF A BIRD. 

A poor little birdling lay shivering with cold — 
A wee unfledged creature not yet three days old — 
For, since early morning, no warm wing had pressed, 
No mother's soft cooing had cheered nor caressed, 
No parent had fed it, that cold cheerless day, — 
Oh, why should its mother neglect it ! 

So then, as the evening grew colder and gray, 
The strength of the birdling began to give way 
To hunger, and chill of that early spring eve, 
Until Death in his mercy arrived to receive — 
Its chills and its hunger and thirst to relieve, — 
Oh, merciful, Death to receive it! 

The mother that morning had flown from her tree, 
The proudest of mothers that ever could be, 
Expecting, that soon, — when her search should be blessed 
With food for the wee one at home in the nest, — 
That she would return, and, with joy in her breast, 
Would guard and would warm and protect it. 



PONTIC MUSINGS. 51 

A hunter that morning, with spirits galore, 
Was seeking to take, — what he could not restore, — 
The life that God gave; and with none to implore 
For the poor hapless bird with no thought of ill, — 
The cold, cruel hunter would boast of his skill, — 
So he thoughtlessly, heartlessly shot her. 

The Lord of Creation looked down from on high 

To Earth, where there's naught that is hid from his eye. 

He saw the poor mother her mission fulfill, 

He saw the rude hunter there trying his skill, 

He saw the dead bird in the nest in the tree, — 

Oh, man ! in the J udgment, 'twill be charged against thee ! 

TO DETROIT. 

All hail, all hail, cleanliness and purity ! 
Oh, to flee back to thee, City of the Straits ! 
So fair thou art, that, in thy splendor, 
Search the hills and valleys over, 
Search the mountains and the rivers, 
Search the heights and search the low lands, 
Search from Maine, to far Seattle, 
We shall find none, that in beauty 
Nor in grandeur can surpass thee. 

All hail, all hail, City by the Mighty River! 

By that grand, majestic river, City of the Straits. 

When the traveler, returning from his 

Long and weary wanderings, 

Sees thy spires, like fingers pointing, 

Praising God for his rich blessings, — 

Oh, his heart is filled with gladness, 

With the thought of once more being 

In his own beloved city! 



52 PONTIC MUSINGS. 

All hail, all hail, purity and healthfulness ! 

Oh, to breathe of thy pure air, City of the Straits ! 

Where no rank nor poisonous gases 

Rise from filthy slough nor cesspool, 

Neither microbe nor miasma 

Gathers in the unclean corners. 

Where no fever germ nor vapor 

Rise up from the unclean gutters, 

But where health and peace and safety 

Are the birth-right of thy people. 

All hail, all hail, city on the verdant lowlands ! 

On the pleasant, verdant lowlands close against the Strait ! 

We commend thy strict devotion 

To thy God and to thy people, 

And to purity and manhood. 

We adore thy faithful spirit 

In attending to all matters 

That shall tend to make men better, 

And a life in thee more pleasant. 



CLARA BARTON. 

Thou blessed saint in human form, 

Truant from Heaven, why came thou here 
To breast the fiercest battle storm, 
And consecrate thine earthly form 

To works of comfort, love and cheer ? 
For when the battle rages nigh — 
As if its horrors to defy — 
To teach the world humanity, 
Thy cross of mercy, there we see. 



PONTIC MUSINGS. 53 

Child of the skies, did God impart 

A special mission unto thee? 
That thou might' st come, with thy pure heart, 
To comfort pain, relieve death's smart, 

And show the world blessed charity 
By wandering o'er the battlefield, 
Thy kind assistance, there, to yield, 
Attentive to the wounded's call — 
It matters not which one may fall. 

Oft, lying on the cold, cold ground, 

With life-blood ebbing fast away 
From severed veins, or gaping wounds, — 
No ear to heed his dying moans, — 

The fallen lad, at close of day, 
With joy has felt thy gentle hand ; 

And heard thy voice, so sweet and mild, 
That Death has staid at thy command, 

And thou hast saved some mother's child. 

Oft, where the wounded soldiers, lay 

And pined for mother's love and care, 

Thy willing feet have found their way, 

To banish fear and sad dismay 

By bringing hope and comfort there ; 

Or, bending o'er some cheerless bed, 

To stroke some throbbing, aching head, 

Whose eyes, in death, were growing dim, — 

An angel's hand, it seemed to him. 

When mother reads these words of cheer 

From cherished son that joined the fight, 
How, at a time when Death lurked near, 



54 PONTIC MUSINGS. 

Into the camp, so sad and drear, 

A guardian angel came one night; 
She offers prayer, that God will bless 
With untold wealth of happiness, 
That Red Cross, angel sister mild, 
That soothed and saved her darling child. 

And oft, returning from the wars, 
Some soldier marked b}^ many scars, 
Received while in the hottest fight, 
Will wonder, who it was that night 

That watched so faithful by his cot ; 
Who yielded not, but tried each art 
That love or duty could impart, 
Until, triumphant in the strife, 
She slowly wooed him back to life. 

And, often, in the coming years, 

Around the firesides, warm and bright, 
As friends shall meet, with joy to tell 
Of olden times they loved so well, 

To while away the wintry night — 
Then shall the tales again be told, 

Of battles fought, and victories won ; 
While not the least that they shall tell, 

Will be the great deeds thou hast done. 



A BATCH OF GEMS. 

To smoke a pipe is foolishness ; 
To puff cigars more foolish yet ; 
But he's the biggest fool of all 
Who'll puff a poison cigarette. 



POKTIC MUSINGS. 55 

Now he who aspires to do that which is right 
Can always be trusted by day or by night ; 
But he who will deign to do wrong, though for pay, 
Can never be trusted by night nor by day. 

Like gardens overgrown with weeds 
Are hearts with thoughts of evil deeds ; 
As weeds are in the garden's way, 
Bad thoughts will drive good deeds away. 

Would you be sad or unhappy, 
Then know this select recipe : 
Don't think of anyone only yourself, 
And your cares how heavy they be. 

A MORNING'S CALL. 

Hear you now the cock's shrill warning, 
Of the fast approach of morning? 
Soon the sun will be adorning 

All this world with golden light; 
Soon all nature will be teeming, 
Soon the sunbeams will be streaming, — 
Lazy idler ! cease your dreaming ! 

Cease to yawn, and quickly rise ! 

Hear you not the rooster's crowing ? 
See you not the day is growing ? 
Night expiring, shades retiring, 

Shadows sinking in the west? 
Day is breaking, nature waking, 

Clouds are purpling in the east ; 
North and south the mists of morning 

Rise and fall and foam like yeast. 



56 PONTIC MUSINGS. 

Hear you not the green wood ringing ? 
Hear you not the birds' sweet singing ? 

Peace and joy and gladness bringing — 
Wake ! and join your voice in singing — 

Come, and join the morning song. 
Sluggard, rise ! behold the gladness ! 
Let your heart be free from sadness, 

God of Morning's praise prolong. 

Hasten now, the sun is coming! 
Flies are buzzing, bees are humming, 
Gnats are flitting, beetles wheeling, 
Golden hues the tree tops stealing 
From the morning clouds above them — 
Scarcely wind enough to move them — 
While the placid lake reflects them, 
Tall and beautiful and grand. 

Rouse you, now ! the cattle's straying; 
In the pastures, lambs are playing; 
Hear you not the horses neighing ? 

Pigs are squealing in the sty. 
Laggard, rise ! postpone thy sleeping ! 
You should now be out and reaping — ■ 
Night's the time for rest and sleeping — 

Wait not ! harvest draweth nigh ! 

LIFE'S WHEEL. 

Turn round, turn round, thou wheel of my life! 

Oh, turn thee, and quickly, thy treasures bring forth ! 
Oh, teach me to number the clays of my life, 

In actions of beauty, of duty, and worth ! 
Yea, teach me to span dread Eternity's chasm 

With that wonderful rod of omnipotent love; 



POETIC MUSINGS. 57 

And teach me to read in the sunshine and shower 
Of blessed, omniscient care from above. 

Turn round, turn round, thou spokes of delight ; 

Oh, show me what pleasures thou hast in thy store ; 
The mirth and the gladness, and spirit of childhood, 

The music and laughter, and frolic galore ! 
Aye, bring me the days wherein bright, joyous sunshine 

Brings joy to my heart, and exalteth my soul; 
And bring me the days, which I travel with pleasure, 

O'er pathways of gladness, with peace as my goal ! 

Turn round, turn round, thou wheel of my life, 

And let me, in triumph, my day-dreams secure ! 
Turn round to that fullness and power of mind 

That vain earthly follies shall cease to allure ! 
Turn round, that the blessings of peace shall be mine ; 

Turn round, that my heart shall be free from dull 
care; 
Turn round ! make me free from this earth and its evils, 

And teach me of vanity's fruits to beware ! 

Turn round, turn round, thou wheel of my life ! 

Oh, turn thy reverses bring forth unto me; 
And teach me to read, in affliction's dark hour, 

The truth of the message, thou sendest, to me ! 
Yea, teach me my weakness, and proneness to sin, 

And teach me, this earth must soon pass away ; 
Oh ! teach me to lay up my treasure in Heaven, 

For all that is earthly must soon pass away ! 



58 POETIC MUSINGS. 

THOMAS BROWN. 

Home from his visit, Thomas Brown 

Arrived last night on the evening train; 
And said, as he dropped in his old arm chair, 

Well, well ! I am glad to be home again ! 
As he came merrily up the path, — 

He was walking fast, for 'twas getting late, — 
But, gladly he stopped to fondle his dog, 

Which romping and frisking, he met at the gate. 

Back in his own house, Thomas Brown, 

Gave himself over to rest and ease. 
He patted and petted his two little boys, 

And called his "wee girlie'' to sit on his knees. 
Of all I have seen on my travels, 

Said he, my own childish fancy to please, 
I would not take it all ; no, no ! not at all ! 

For the pleasure of being with you, wife, and these. 

Down at his table, Thomas Brown, 

Rendered his grace in a hearty mood — 
Victuals are better that you cook, wife, 

Somehow, your presence makes them taste good ; 
For a king's own fare, 'mid the world's cold strife, 

Where all is hurry, and silence, and gloom, — 
Is not as much to endear one's life 

As a crust, in peace, with loved ones at home. 

After his supper, Thomas Brown, 

Having rested, and changed his raiment again, 
Must go to the barn to visit his colts — 

To pat them and brush their silky mane ; 
Then passes on to the stable near, 
Where Old Bay's nicker, he could plainly hear, 



PONTIC MUSINGS. 59 

To pat his neck in a friendly way; — 

Well, well ! and how fares my boy to-day ? 

On through the stable, Thomas Brown, 

Passes along down the stanchion rows, — 
The cattle low, as he passes along, — 

He pats each face, and he rubs each nose. 
He visits his sheep, with a happy tune, 

As gay as the cricket chirps in June; 
And the lay of his song, be it cot or dome, 

There is no place, like "home, sweet home." 

E'er seeking his couch, Thomas Brown, 

Knelt with his folks, for evening prayer ; 
Thanking God for bringing him safely home 

To his wife and children and all so dear; 
He thanked Him for love in that dear Home, 

That could drive all his sorrows and cares away ; 
That could bind hearts together in sweet accord, 

With bonds of affection forever and aye. 

THE LOST DAUGHTER. 

She has gone away from our homestead ! 

Death's whisper, had bade her go forth — 
She has gone, and taken our peace and joy, 

And our hearts are as cold as the North. 
She has gone away from her parents, — 

The sweet daughter we loved so well — 
And the sorrow and grief that lurks in our breasts, 

Our poor, aged tongues can not tell. 

She has gone ! Ah, the house is so lonely ! — 

The clear one we'd watched o'er for years ! 



60 PONTIC MUSINGS. 

Oh ! our poor heads are bowed down with sorrow, 
And our poor eyes are flooded with tears. 

Alas ! can it be, we'll ne'er see her ? 
Oh ! is she ne'er coming again ? 

To bring peace to the heart of her father dear, 
And her dear mother's hope to sustain. 

The house is so lonely without her ; — 

We miss her glad hymns for the right, 
And we miss her sweet voice in the morning, — 

Her heart was so joyous and light; 
We miss her at church on the Sabbath ; 

We grieve for her, waking at night, 
And in sadness, partake of our midday meal, 

Where she always had made our hearts light. 

Ah !. still in our visions we see her, 

As the wee little one on our knee ; 
And we see her, the gay little sunbeam, 

And we hear her laugh out in her glee. 
We see her, a light-hearted school-girl, 

With dancing and bright shining eyes, 
And we see her, a sweet, comely maiden gay, 

As smiling as summer day skies. 

Ah ! can we forget those happy days, 

Which are gone to return never more, 
When our little one cooed in her cradle, 

When she prattled and played on the floor; 
The joy when her first words were spoken ; 

When she first lisped her dear mamma's name- 
Ah ! sweeter by far, from the lips of that child, 

Than thundered on trumpets of fame. 



PONTIC MUSINGS. 6l 

Yea, well do we yet remember, when — 

With joys which we've now ceased to know — 
We taught her lessons in etiquette. 

And we taught her to read and to sew ; 
And often her bright eyes would sparkle, — 

Ay ! wonderful joy would they tell — 
As she mastered the names of the letters, or 

As she learned the new words to spell. 

And often, too, at evening tide, 

Would I hold her upon my knee ; 
While she sang sweet songs of the Happy Land, 

Of the pearly gates, and crystal sea. 
It made me a better, nobler man, 

To think of that vision so fair — 
But she's waiting now, on that evergreen shore, 

For mother and I to come there. 

Ah, well, though it's hard, we must bear it! 

'Tis part of God's wonderful plan ; 
Who knows, that the magnet, parental ties, 

Can govern the strong heart of man ; 
Who know, with our treasure in Heaven, . 

Our hearts, too, will, also, be there, 
And thus form a tie between Heaven and Earth 

A loadstone, to draw us up there. 

W T e thank, thee, oh, God, for thy kindness ! 

In sending her down from above 
To teach us the pleasures of righteousness, 

And to teach us the Father's strong love ; 
To show us the wealth of the treasure 

Thou gavest upon Calvary's tree, 
That we might have free, full salvation, 

That we may from bondage be free. 



62 PONTIC MUSINGS. 



GLADYS. 



Oh, our hearts are so sad and so lonely, ah, me ! 

Since Gladys has gone from our home : 
We fain would have kept her here always, you see, 

But the Master had bade her to come. 
Yes, he well knew, that she was too tender 
For this world of corruption and woe, 
So he took her up there, where he'll keep her as fair 
And as pure as the white drifting snow. 

Yet, the Master up yonder, — so thoughtful is He, — 

Kindly sent her to us for a while; 
But she could not remain long in this wicked world, 

Else she, too, would grow wicked and vile ; — 
Ah ! she was as fresh as the morning's dew, 

And as bright as the flowers by the way, 
So he lent her to us, that we might catch a glimpse 

Of the Home where the faithful ones stay. 

And they say, that in yonder bright city, so fair, 

She will never grow faded nor old, 
But will always remain that same, sweet, childish elf, 

Far dearer than jewels of gold; 
That no dark stains of sin shall pollute her, 

That no evil thing e'er shall come nigh, — 
For all must be spotless and holy, they say, 

Who enter that Home in the sky. 

They, too, say that the Kingdom of Heaven shall be 

Like unto a little child ; 
So I know how grandly sublime it must be, 

When I think of how sweetly she smiled ; 



PONTIC MUSINGS. 63 

How calm and how peaceful she lay on her bed, — 

Her beautiful face looked so fair, — 
Her brightness resembled the halo of Heaven 

She sank to sweet sleep to wake there. 

Ah, well ! so it is, man is born but to die ; 

The days of his life are but few ; 
He shall fall as the forest tree, when old, 

Or he may fade like the morning's dew. 
And wise is that man, who shall make haste to prepare 

While in youth he is buoyant and free — 
So I must prepare for the "Home over there," — 

Yes, Gladys ! I'm coming to thee. 

THE SCOLD. 

She arises in the morning, 

From the wrong side of the bed ; 
Her temper rises with her, 

And her eyes are blear and red ; 
Her mind is full of grievances, 

Her humor is cross-grained, 
And all domestic harmony 

Is most severely strained ; 
For she scolds, scolds, scolds, 

When the storm is at its height; 
And she scolds, scolds, scolds, 

When the day is warm and bright; 
And be the weather foul or fair, 
With chilling blasts or balmy air, 

She'll scold, scold, scold, scold, scold, scold, scold. 

She arises with her weak mind 
In a most uncertain state ; 



64 PONTIC MUSINGS. 

She scolds because it's early, 

Or because it is so late ; 
She scolds the man, she scolds the maid, 

And scolds the girls and boys ; 
She scolds because they're quiet, 

Or because they make a noise. 
Yes, she scolds, scolds, scolds, 

And her tongue is never still ; 
For she scolds when she is well, 

And will scold when she is ill ; 
She will scold when she is young, 

And will scold when she is old, 
And will never cease her scolding 

'Till in death her tongue is cold ; 
Just to scold, scold, scold, scold, scold, scold, scold. 

She looks upon her neighbor 

With a very jealous mind ; 
She scolds because they go ahead, 

Or when they fall behind ; 
She scolds because they visit her, 

Or if they pass her by — 
Oh, you can never please her, 

And it will not pay to try ! 
For she'll scold, scold, scold, scold, scold, scold, scold, 

'Till she'll miss all peace upon this earth, 

And Heaven, too; we're told, 
A scolding, poison, blighting tongue, 
Can not be with that happy throng, 

To scold, scold, scold, scold, scold, scold, scold. 



POETIC MUSINGS. 65 

E PIvURIBUS UNUM. 

Thank God ! our great Nation is once more restored — 

E Pluribus Unum, in spirit and word : 

For we know not a South, and we know not a North, 

No East, nor no West, shall we know from henceforth; 

But, shoulder to shoulder, together we'll stand, 

Throughout the extent of this glorious land ; 

For the East and the West, and the North and the South, 

Together, have stood at the cannon's mouth, 

For their country's sake, to do and to dare, 

'Till their hearts have knit into union there. 

How joyful ! our friendship is once more restored ; 

The Blue and the Gray meet as brothers once more ; 
While our hatred, as foes, is all g*one — deed and word — 

We meet 'neath the flag we both love and adore. 
Together, we boast of the Red, White and Blue, 

Together, we sing Columbia's glad strains ; 
And, together, we boast that we'll ever be true 

To the common, proud blood, that still flows in our 
veins, 
Which leads us to form our lost friendship anew, 

And binds our hearts stronger than cables or chains. 

No more shall we meet in mad combat and strife, 
No more shall we seek each other to harm ; 

No more shall our country with battles be rife, — 
Our cannon's loud booming has ceased to alarm. 

No more from our slumber the bugle shall wake us, 
To bid us, our brothers, to meet in the fray, 

To smite and to kill, on the red fields of battle, 

Amid the wild din of the musketry's rattle, 



66 POETIC MUSINGS. 

The cannon's loud boom, and the dread saber's brattle, 
In cold, heartless fury our brothers to slay. 

The ties that were severed, again are restored ; 

We meet with each other with gladness and joy, 
Forbearing to frown, or to utter a word, 

That shall show unkind feeling, to grieve or annoy. 
Together, we raise our glad voices in singing, 

Together, we meet 'round the festival board ; 
While power and strength to the Union we're bringing, 

Our lives we are tuning in sweetest accord ; 
And tendrils of love, like the ivy vine clinging, 

Have twined 'round our hearts, till they cannot be 
stirred. 

Oh, long shall our Union, in triumph endure ! 

And long shall the Stars and Stripes float o'er the 
brave ! 
While together we'll strive with a firm purpose true, 

Columbia's welfare, to seek and to save; 
Oh ! may we so live that the eyes of the nations, 

When looking upon us, so distant and cold, 
Shall see in our land that sweet peace and contentment — 

Ah ! different from spake by their prophets of old, — 
Beholding our people in life's different stations, 

Enjoying a freedom that's better than gold. 

SELECT RECIPES FOR CHEERFULNESS. 

Though it dark and gloomy be, be cheery ; 

Vain complaints and clouded brows make it dreary. 

Let your heart be light and gay, 

All the gloom will flee away, 
And you'll think that stormy day, oh, so merry ! 



POETIC MUSINGS. 67 

Some people will grumble, whatever betide ; 

Find fault because God hath put thorns upon roses ; 
Much better thank God for the roses on thorns, 

And that even the thistles and nettles have posies. 

All that you have said you'd do, 

Surely do it ; 
If your word is found untrue, 

You shall rue it. 
Though untruth may clear your way, 
It will out some other day — 
Honesty will always pay — 

Oh, pursue it ! 

If you'd have a soft bed, friend, before you go hence, 
Be sure you've a conscience that's void of offence ; 
When the conscience is clear and the heart it is true, 
Your bed will be soft, and your pillow will, too. 

Though it cause your heart to bleed, 
Always do as you've agreed ; 
Do not sneak, nor run away, 
If you'd deal another day. 

If people say the weather's wrong, 
Deny it ; 

To think that it's right, will make it all bright- 
Just try it. 

As blithe as a bird sailing high in the air, 

Is the heart of a man when his conscience is clear. 

Oh, grasp each golden chance that flies, 
For your heart will be heavy and sad ; 



68 POETIC MUSINGS. 

When you later reflect on your sad neglect, 
And sigh, if I only had ! 

If, over life's repulsive moods, 

You have a fear of stumbling, 
Remember a most noxious mood 

Is that of constant grumbling. 

Hear him grumble at the dark days, 

Hear him grumble at the light ; 
Be assured it's not the weather, 

But his mind that isn't right. 

FOUR SISTERS. 

The first is a bright, happy maiden, 

Most lovely and fair to behold, 
Who dresses in purple and living green, 

And is decked with rare jewels of gold; 
Her breath bears the fragrance of roses, 

Of lilac, and sweet mignonette; 
Of violets, sweet william, and hawthorne, 

And clover and choicest privet ; 
Her face, it is lovely, and smiling, 

Her manners are modest and mild, 
So one can in no wise help loving 

This gentle, young, rosy-cheeked child ; 
As she comes with her lap full of flowers, 

Bringing sunshine, and gladness, and glee,- 
'Tis the time for all nature's awaking, 

'Tis the time of the birds' jubilee. 

The next one, a comely young lady, 
More sober and stately, I ween, 



POETIC MUSINGS. 69 

Comes, attired, in a less flashy raiment 

Of gold, with trimmings of green. 
Her face, it is quiet, and placid — 

Though sometimes 'tis darkened by storms — 
Her fair hair is soft, and of beautiful gold, 

And woven in beautiful forms. 
Her breath is richly laden with fruit, 

With cherries her jewels are set; 
She's hurry and scurry and bustle, 

And none can e'er call her coquette. 
She is thrifty, ambitious, successful, 

And her labors with profit are crowned, 
Completing the works of her sisters, 

And making warm friends all around. 

A sober matron, quiet and grave, 

Attired in somber and gray, 
Shall next o'er the home of these sisters, four, 

In sadness and gloom, hold her sway. 
Her face it is gloomy and clouded, 

Her nature is selfish and chill, 
She gathers the fruits of her sisters' toil, 

Her own empty garners to fill. 
She'll scorch the bright gowns of her sisters, 

And drive the sweet birds far away, 
Then hush the gay songs in the meadows, 

And fill all glad hearts with dismay. 
She harvests the peaches, and apples, too ; 

Yes ! she gleans from the tree and the vine, 
Then, slowly, sinks into a slumber, 

Like one who has drank too much wine. 

A saintly mother, whose head is hoar, 
The last of these sisters we see — 



7° POETIC MUSINGS. 

Whose robe is as pure as the psalmist's wool — 

She is honest and pure as can be. 
Her jewels are pearls and diamonds, — 

Of art, she is fond, too, I ween, — 
She conceives of most beautiful gardens, 

And paints them in silvery sheen ; 
Her white face is constantly clouded, 

Her heart is weighed down with dull care,- 
Her thoughts are now centered upon the grave, 

For her sisters are all resting there. 
Her poor heart, now aching and throbbing, 

Her strong will, must quickly give way, — 
She gives but a gasp and a shudder, 

Then quietly passes away. 

NELLIE. 

Her eyes are as bright as the stars of the night, 

And as soft and mild as June's fair skies ; 
Her neck is as white as the downy swan's, 

And her cheeks, with blush of roses vies ; 
Her cherry lips are prime and sweet, 

Her teeth like pearls brought from afar — 
She's one that you would like to meet, 

Our Nellie girl ! our morning star ! 

Her heart is as light as the foaming spray 

That cresteth the white-caps of the sea; 
As true and tried as the warrior's steel, 

O'erflowing with music, gladness and glee; 
And, like the golden summer's day — 

When flowers bloom and brooklets purl — 
Sheds joy and gladness in her way — 

Bright, happy sunbeam, bright, happy girl ! 



PONTIC MUSINGS. 71 

Her merry laugh, like a murmuring brook, 

Drives all our cares and vexation away ; 
And the joyous songs which spring from her lips 

Bring cheer to the darkest and dreariest day. 
Her pleasant words, good-will, and cheer, 

Her sunny face, her smile so fair, 
Her friendly chat, her mien so dear, 

Are as a mine of diamonds rare. 

Ah ! lonely and sad as a prison cell, 

Our lives would now be were she here no more. 
Ay ! watch we and wait for her smiling face, 

For her blithesome song and her gladness galore. 
As morn dispels the darkest night, 

Or sun dispels the fiercest shower, 
She drives all darkness from our hearts — 

God bless and keep her sweet and pure ! 



THE WANDERER. 

A wanderer o'er the world I roam ; — 
The birds have nests, the fox a home, 
The quail a cosy, sheltered nook, 
The bee a hive, the fish a brook, 
The king a palace, grand and wide, 
With wealth to strew on every side ; 
But I, alas ! am all alone — 
I have no place to call my own. 

A wanderer o'er this earth, I stray, 
Year after year, day after day, — 
With naught to cheer, at my command- 
A humble tiller of the land — 



7 2 PONTIC MUSINGS. 

Or serving here, or toiling there, 

To win my meager daily fare ; — 

Though throbs my brain, and weak my feet, 

I still must work, if I would eat. 

A wanderer o'er this world, ah, me ! 
That I, alas, am forced to be ! 
To see the peace and joy of home, 
And know that I must farther roam, 
Or, if they make a place for me, 
To feel that it is charity; — 
To feel that I'm not wanted there — 
Oh, what a heavy weight of care ! 

I wander on, from morning's light 
Until the day has turned to night; 
Or, sometimes, pause a while, 'tis true, 
With those with work for me to do ; — 
While they command, I must obey, 
And thus it is, — from day to day, — 
I verify what God hath said, 
And by my sweat, I eat my bread. 

But then, I know the time will come, 
When I may ever cease to roam ; 
When I may find what I've long sought — 
A peaceful home — oh, happy thought ! 
Be ever free from every care, 
And know that I am welcome there ; — 
There, to enjoy that peace and cheer, 
That God shall give those faithful here. 



PONTIC MUSINGS. 



MISS CROSSPATCH. 



73 



She arises in the morning, 

With a boo, hoo, hoo ! 
She can not find her stocking, 

Nor she can't tie up her shoe ; 
She will not let her hair be combed, 

She will not wash her hands, 
While many, loud, and numerous 

Are her unjust demands. 
Then she simpers, and she sighs, 

And she moans, and whines, and cries, 
And nothing that will please her, 

Can you find. 
Now, let me tell you, true, 
The best thing that you can do 
Is just to' set to work, 

And make her mind. 

She arises in the morning, 

With a boo, hoo, hoo ! 
Her trouble soon commences, 

And it lasts the whole day through. 
She frets and scolds, she snaps and snarls, 

Through all the livelong day ; 
She does not wish to read her book, 

She will not sew or play ; 
She never is contented, 

Her mind is ill at ease, 
And all the joy she seems to have, 

Is tease, tease, tease. 
Oh, it would be much nicer, 

And we would be so glad, 
If she would only cease 

To be so very bad. 



74 POETIC MUSINGS. 

AT THE JUDGMENT. 

On that day, when my life upon earth shall have ended, 

In which, from my works, unto judgment I fly, 
Oh, joy! be it mine, then, with truth and with gladness, 
With no tinge of guilt, blessed freedom from sadness, 
Nor pangs of remorse, which oft lead unto madness, 
To answer, my Master, these questions with Ay. 

Dost thou come with a heart that is free from pollution 

Of self, and of greed for the world's wasting store? 
Are thy lips free from guile, and thy tongue from all evil, — 
Foul mouths and foul hearts are the pride of the Devil, — 
Thine ears, are they deaf to the world's drunken revel, 
But keen to the cry of the wretched or poor? 

Have you tried to be true to the trust that I gave you, 
In clothing my hungry, and feeding my poor ? 

Or peace, have you brought to the sad, broken-hearted, 
Or strength to the weak ones, and hearts that are sore ? 

Hast thou in thy kindness thy vigil kept over 

Thy world-wayward brother, his soul to restore? 

On the day when from bonds of this body I'm loosened, 

When high upon wings, as an eagle I go, — 
Oh ! may I be able, with truth and with pleasure, 
With joys in my heart, which this world cannot measure, 
With conscience at rest, — an invaluable treasure, — 
Reply to these questions, for judgment, with No ! 

Art thou loath to give up this vile world and its pleasures, 

All drunkenness, reveling, games, and the ball ; 
The praises of men, which oft lead to self-glory, — 
The lewd worldly song, and the Satanic story, 



POETIC MUSINGS. 75 

The quarrel, and the broil, and the wild, noisy foray, 
And all evil discourse, and slander, and brawl ? 

Dost thou think the old world, with its cares and its 
troubles, 

Its few fleeting pleasures, its sickness and all, 
Its false passing joys, — which are basest deception, — 
Its harsh, stern demands, and its cruel exactions, 
Its sorrows and losses, its gloom and dejection, 

Can equal in value the price of a soul ? 

Oh, joy, then to hear the kind Master say enter ! 

Oh, happy, to share in His welcoming smile ! 
Ay! blessed to enter that beautiful Heaven, 
To sing with the saints of the love God has given, 
To rest in the cleft of the rock that is riven, 

Secure from the loathsome, the wicked and vile ! 

THE PHANTOM WOMAN. 

Once upon a cheerless midnight, 

At the time when spirits walk, 
At the time when phantoms whisper 

And unearthly voices talk, 
Waked I, startled from my slumber — 

Waked all faint with sudden fear — 
Waked to hear weird, ghostly voices, 

Sounding: from the closet near. 



'to 



Fierce the wintry wind was blowing, 

Whistling through the pine-trees drear, 

While the peach-tree, swaying, moaning, 
Indistinctly, I could hear ; 



j6 POETIC MUSINGS. 

And the ivy groaned and rattled, 
As it rubbed against the wall, 

Till I fancied, in its anguish, 

I could hear a warning call. 

So with faint heart, wildly beating, 

Long I lay in dread suspense, 
Scripture texts and psalms repeating — 

This a means of self-defense 
'Gainst the power of evil spirits — 

Too much frightened now to rise — 
Wondering who was in my chamber; 

Horrid thoughts did I surmise. 

Soon I felt my nerves grow stronger, — 

Silence now, the noise was over — 
Hesitating then no longer, 

Lightly turning back the cover, 
Lightly sprang I to the closet, — 

Lightly stepped across the floor — 
Quickly stepped across the chamber, 

Heard the wind and nothing" more. 



'& 



Now, thought I, I shall discover 

Who the culprit, that dare enter, 
Under midnight's darksome cover, 

To the closet in my chamber . 
Sure was I, I'd heard low voices — 

Whether man or whether woman- 
Sure was I, I heard those voices, 

Sure was I, the voice was human. 

As the door, I softly opened, 

Came again that moaning call, 



POETIC MUSINGS. JJ 

Came a sight, that chilled, appalled me ; 

Over near the western wall 
Stood a giant, phantom woman; 

Slowly swinging, to and fro, 
And, anon, as she kept swaying, 

Came that wailing voice of woe. 

Fiend ! I cried, why seek my chamber ; 

Or, if good, what brings you here? 
Speak, I tell you, ghostly stranger, 

Be your message, ill or fair ! 
Speak, thou wretch ! what means this silence ? 

Speak, and make thy message known; 
All the answer, I receiving, 

Was a deep and stifled groan. 

Soon I saw, that she was fading, 

Sprang I quickly, 'cross the floor ; 
Stood alone in utter darkness, 

Hearing, but the wind's loud roar — 
Soon, again, I saw the vision, 

There before me, on the wall, 
Quickly, reached I forth to grasp it, — 

Grasped the plaster, that was all. 

Are you but a foolish fancy 

Of a tired, fevered brain? 
This, I asked in deep vexation, 

When, behold it there again ! 
Now advancing, now receding, 

Now 'twould rise, and now 'twould fall, 
When, with joy, the truth flashed o'er me, 

'Twas reflected on the wall. 



yS POETIC MUSINGS. 

Then I thought me of the voices, 

That had sounded from that room, 
That had sounded with such weirdness, 

And, at first, had struck me dumb; 
Soon I hear it from a window, — 

'Twas the wind, so loud and strong, 
Blowing through a broken shutter, — 

Then I laughed both loud and long. 

And, thus, my friend, 'twill ever be, 

When phantoms shall arise, 
We'll find them, but reflections, 

Or, distortions of the eyes. 
Don't let queer tales disturb your rest, 

Nor phantom voices fright ; 
Remember, that no harm can be 

Reflected from a light. 



THE TRAMP CONVERT. 

It was in a warm, heart-melting meeting, — 

One, where all had been moved by God's love, — 
Where salvation was preached with truth and with power, 

And the sinners were offered God's love, 
When a vile, dirty, tramp arose from his seat, 

And slowly descended the aisle, 
And when he arrived at the altar, there shone 

On his grim face a bright, happy smile. 

I will take me a stand in the corner, 

So you need not draw back with a fright ; — 

Yes, I am a tramp in my outward appearance, 
But my heart it is honest and bright. 



POETIC MUSINGS. 79 

I am now tired of this way of living — 

I plead at this altar for light, 
And that God will forgive my transgressions, 

While I make my confessions to-night. 

I was born in the County Killarney, — 

Oh, the beautiful isle far away! — 
In a dear little cot, 'neath the brow of a hill, 

Full of music and joy all the day. 
My mother was pure as the angels above, 

My father was honest and true, 
While one brother I had — a brave, honest lad — 

Who played with me all the day through. 

My life, it was joyous and pleasant, 

Full of gladness and song all the way ; 
My father, he taught me the goodness of God, 

And my mother, she taught me to pray. 
My brother, with heart full of kindness and truth, 

Reflected the life from above, 
So, free from the power and knowledge of sin, 

I, too, had become filled with God's love. 

Oh, the joy of those wanderings with brother ! 

Through the hills and woodlands, close by, 
Where we lounged in the shades of the forest, 

W nere the silvery stream rippled nigh ; 
Or chased the gay squirrel, high up his tree, 

High up in the sweet, balmy air, 
He chitting, with glee, for we did him no harm, — 

Then, I knew not the dull weight of care. 

1 was still but a gay, thoughtless schoolboy, 
When a gloom was cast over our home; 



80 POETIC MUSINGS. 

My father was stricken with palsy, alas ! 

And his wished-for sweet rest had now come. 
My mother grew feeble, and failed every day, 

My brother, too, now became ill, 
And naught could they see to rely upon, 

But my hands, and my good honest will. 

I was young to go forth in this cold world, 

But I did as necessity bade ; 
That I might be helpful to mother, dear, 

Was the only desire that I had. 
But it seemed as if fate was against me. 

There was none had employment for me ; 
I yielded to hunger's temptation, to steal, 

And was soon lodged behind lock and key. 

I served out my sentence in silence, 

But repented, with sorrow and tears. 
And I trusted again to the Father on High, 

Who the penitent's prayers always hears. 
When I was released from my prison, again, 

I shrank from the world and its charms, 
But longed for the prayers from my mother's pure lips, 

And, for counsel, I flew to her arms. 

'Twas a bright, balmy day in the spring time, 

The glad wood with bird voices was gay, 
When I lightly sped through the old forest, so clear, 

Where my brother and I used to play. 
I was waiting and hoping to hear his sweet voice 

Ringing out in its glad, boyish glee, 
When I spied a new grave on a green little mound, 

Where my brother oft rested with me. 



PONTIC MUSINGS. 8l 

I was just passing carelessly by it, — 

Now, so anxious my brother to see, — 
When I thoughtlessly read the inscription thereon, — 

My poor heart it stood still within me ; 
My limbs seemed suddenly turned into stone, 

My head seemed to swim and whirl round, 
And torrents of tears filled my eyes as I read 

That my brother lay under that mound. 

Oh, brother, brother ! Oh, God, can it be ! 

And my grief I could nowise suppress ; 
Now trembling in limb, and fainting in heart, — 

Oh, my mother would soothe and caress. 
But when I arrived at that dear beloved home, 

All lonely and quiet it lay — 
When a boy, passing by, informed me, alas ! 

That my mother was, too, lain away. 

She had prayed, he said, that God would bless me ; 

With a smile, she sank into sweet sleep ; 
She had left me this message, to meet her in Heaven, — 

Ah, my brain was too burning to weep ! 
All dazed and bewildered, I wandered about, 

I know not how far nor the way, 
'Till I found myself close by a grand stone church, 

Where the people were meeting to pray. 

I was filled with desire to pray with them — 

To the altar I flew for relief, 
When some richly dressed women arose from their knees — 

No, they never would kneel with a thief ! 
I was then filled with deep Satanic fury, 

And turned from the place with a curse ; 



82 POETIC MUSINGS. 

That night I was drunk, vile, and noisy, — 
I drifted from bad into worse. 

I have since lived in deep dissipation, 

Bitter fruit of those Pharisees' words, 
For I know they were words by the Devil inspired — 

Those vile women — were not the dear Lord's. 
I have spent many days behind prison bars ; 

I'm ragged, and dirty, you see, 
But still I believe there is power in His blood 

That can save a poor sinner like me. 

It was not the love of your work, in my heart, 

That would cause me to come here to-night, 
But the wind, it is piercing, my garments are thin, 

While within, it is cosy and bright. 
Ah ! my heart it was cold as the tempest outside, 

'Till I heard a dear young sister say, 
We would soon meet with those who had gone on before, - 

And, oh ! my brother has gone on that way. 

So, then, when I heard your parson in prayer, — 

Yet so much like my own father's voice, — 
As he kindly went on in his pleadings for me, — 

Oh, it made my cold heart to rejoice ! 
When, too, as he finished, you sang a sweet hymn, 

That my mother used often to sing, 
Her glad hallelujahs rang out in my heart, 

And His love bubbled up like a spring. 

Ah ! but, how is it you are all weeping, 

While I am so filled with deep joy ? 
'Tis the happiest evening, I ever have seen, 

Since at home, when a gay, thoughtless boy. 



POETIC MUSINGS. 83 

No, don't crowd so closely around me, dear friends, — 
What is that ? — My hand, did you say ? 

While ragged, and dirty, and grimy, and vile, — 
Praise God, for this glad, happy day ! 

THE MESSIAH. 

Have you ever heard the story 
Of the wonders, queer and curious, 
Of the strange events that happened, 
Of wild scenes, weird and amazing, 
Of the visit of the angels 
And the hosts of Heaven's heralds, 
Singing songs of peace and good- will, 
Heralding the birth of Jesus — 
He, the promised great Messiah, 
Who was born in Bethlehem's manger — 
Grew in wisdom and in stature, 
Taught the haughty Jew and Gentile, 
Was reviled and mocked, rejected; 
Taught the poor and fed the hungry, 
Healed the blind and cleansed the leper ; 
Then the Jews they crucified him ; 
Pierced him, too, with thorns and iron, 
Having spit upon and scourged him? 

Have you heard when dead they laid him 
In a tomb, and sealed the doorway, 
Set a guard to watch by night time? 
How he rose again the third day, 
Walked and talked with his disciples, 
Then ascended up to Heaven ? 

Dark and chill and drear the night was, 
On the plains of old Judea, 



84 PONTIC MUSINGS. 

Near the silent watch of midnight, 
In the Holy land of Israel; 
Dark and deep, the silence brooding 
So portending something evil, 
That the shepherds grew uneasy ; 
That the shepherds, lone and silent, 
Felt a strange and weird foreboding 
Much akin to fear and trembling. 

Drew they nearer, then, together 
Hailed each other in low voices, — 
Startled, were at their own voices 
Sounding ghastly in the stillness ; 
Startled, at the lambkins bleating, 
Startled, at the wild birds flitting. 

Talked they, then, awhile together; 
Spoke they, of the awful stillness; 
Spoke they, too, of the Messiah 
Who should come to comfort Israel ; 
Then, as time moved slowly onward, 
Wished they, vainly, for the morning; 
Wished they, for the blessed sunlight ; 
Weary, grew and dozed and nodded, 
Wishing vainly for the morning. 

Then, as when the vivid lightning 
Brightly flashes in the darkness, — 
Often lights the pitchy blackness 
Wlien the midnight storm is raging — 
Flashed a light of untold splendor; 
Shone a light, so bright and dazzling, 
That the shepherds, sorely frightened, 
Fell to earth and hid their faces — 
Fell to earth and dared not look up. 



PONTIC MUSINGS. 85 

Then they knew the Lord, most holy, 
Had from Heaven to Earth descended, 
Suddenly had come unto them 
As they waited in the darkness, — 
Half unconscious of existence, 
Dozed and waited in the darkness — 
And they now were in the presence 
Of the Master of Creation. 

Then appeared there, with the angel, 
Multitudes of Heavenly heralds 
Singing praise to God, most holy. 
Singing "Peace on Earth" and "Good-will." 

Went the shepherds then to Bethlehem ; 
Went, directed by the angel, 
Saw a star which went before them 
Guiding o'er their darksome pathway ; 
Guiding them unto a manger, 
Where they found the new-born Savior 
Mid the oxen in a stable; 
Found the promised, great Messiah 
'Mid the oxen in the manger. 
There, neglected by the people 
And rejected by all Israel, 
Lay the son of God of Heaven. 

Then He grew, this child, and waxed strong ; 
Grew in wisdom and in stature ; 
Puzzled, haughty scribe, conceited, 
Man of highest earthly knowledge ; 
Puzzled, he, and much perplexed them, 
By His questions in the temple. 



86 POETIC MUSINGS. 

After he had grown to manhood, 
Came he, to the River Jordan, 
Came where John was then baptizing, 
Was baptized of John in Jordan ; 
When, behold from Heaven descended 
Like a dove that sways and flutters, 
Like a clove that fondly hovers 
O'er her nest of happy birdlings ; 
Slowly fluttered and alighted 
On his head the Holy Spirit. 

As this dove-like Holy Spirit 
Rested there upon the Master, 
Came a voice like mighty thunder, 
Came a voice from Heaven saying, 
"Hear Him. This is my beloved." 

There, again, our Lord retreated ; 
Forty days and nights He fasted, 
Sorely tried the while and tempted, 
Sorely tempted by the Devil ; 
Tempted by the King of Evil, 
Tempted by the Prince of Darkness — 
By the wicked subtle serpent — 
Tempted to appease his hunger ; 
Asked to live in untold splendor, 
Princely state and lordly grandeur; 
Asked to take these worldly honors, 
But refute the Father's purpose. 

Then the Savior, sorely tempted, 
Said, "Get thou behind me, Satan;" 
Said unto the crafty demon, 
Said unto the Prince of Evil, — 



PONTIC MUSINGS. 87 

He the subtle wicked Devil — 
Nay! "Get thou behind me, Satan!" 

After he had won the victory, 
After Christ had thwarted Satan, 
After Christ had gained the victory 
O'er the flesh and o'er the Devil, 
Back he turned him to the Jordan ; 
To the rolling River Jordan, 
To the anxious waiting people 
In the land where flowed the Jordan ; 
To the anxious waiting people 
Of the favored land of Israel 
Who awaited the Messiah. 

Then the Lord proclaimed his mission 
To the people, there, and taught them 
Of the full and free salvation 
That he brought from God, the Father; 
Of the full and free salvation 
That he brought for all the people ; 
Of the great and free salvation 
That the Lord had promised Abram, 
Promised Isaac, promised Jacob, 
That should be for all of Israel. 

Then he raised his voice in preaching; 
Sounded forth the joyful tidings, 
Faithfully proclaimed the Gospel 
To the high and to the lowly, 
To the poor and to the wealthy ; 
Taught them from the sacred Scripture, 
Taught them from the words of wisdom, 
That he came to bring from Heaven; 



88 PONTIC MUSINGS. 

Taught the haughty Scribe and priestcraft, 
Taught the Pharisee, conceited, 
Or rebuked them by the Scriptures. 

As he daily taught the people, 
Healed he also their diseases ; 
Healed, alike, the Saint and Sinner, 
Opened eyes, that long were darkened ; 
Loosened tongues that ne'er had spoken; 
Banished demons, cleansed the lepers, 
And, in mercy, fed the hungry. 

But the Jews would not accept him — 
Oft they, too, conspired against him, 
And they said, "he hath a devil;" 
Strongly vowed "he hath a devil," 
For he heeded not tradition 
Of the scribes nor of the elders, 
Ate with publicans and sinners, 
Works of mercy did on Sabbath ; 
Plucked and ate, when he was hungry, 
Cheered and healed the sick on Sabbath ; 
Preached the Gospel to the Gentiles — 
Long despised, rejected Gentiles — 
Offered them, too, free salvation. 

Then the priests conspired against him ; 
Brought him to the great Sanhedrim — 
To the haughty Jewish Council — 
Hired witnesses against him, 
Cruel charges brought against him, 
But they found they could not prove them ; 
Then by craft and subtle scheming 
Gained consent to crucify him. 

LofC. 



PONTIC MUSINGS. 89 

Then they took the lowly Jesus, 
Clad him in a purple raiment, 
Placed a crown of thorns upon him, 
And, in scorn, knelt down before him 
Hailing him as "King of Israel." 
Then they mocked, and spit upon him, 
Mocked, and spit upon their Savior. 

Then they led him from the city 
To a mount without the city, 
Where they coolly crucified him ; 
To the nearby Mount of Olives, 
Where they straightway crucified him; 
Where the Jews they crucified him, 
While he prayed to God in Heaven ; 
While he meekly prayed, "Forgive them, 
For they know not what they do." Now, 

After they had scourged, reviled him, 
After they had smote and pierced him, 
Nailed him on the rugged cross, too, 
Still he prayed, "Father, forgive them;" 
This he asked for those who pierced him, — 
Fondly asked, "Father forgive them;" 
Then he bowed his head and died, there, 
As he sadly said, "It's finished." 

Fiercely, at the death of Jesus 
Did a strong and sudden earthquake 
Shake and sway the ground beneath them ; 
While did loud and mighty thunders 
Bellow forth their direful warnings, 
And a deep and awful darkness 
Covered all the landscape over. 



90 PONTIC MUSINGS. 

After he was dead, they laid him 
In a tomb, and sealed the doorway; 
Set a guard to keep the doorway 
That no robber might there enter, 
That no friend nor foe might enter 
In, and take the form of Jesus. 

Then he 'rose again the third day, 
Walked and talked with his disciples, 
Ate and drank with his disciples, 
Oft appeared unto the people 
To convince the unbelieving ; 
He arose again the third day, 
Many days was with the people, 
Then ascended up to Heaven, 
Where he shares the Father's glory. 

'Twas for you, that Christ thus perished; 
'Twas for you, he came and suffered; — 
You, whoe'er you are, that read this, 
'Twas for you, he sorely suffered; 
Gave his life upon Golgotha, 
Gave his life for your redemption, 
Gave his life to pay the ransom 
That you have no need to perish ; 
That you need to fear no evil, 
But may gain a home in Heaven. 
If you but accept this Savior, 
You shall have a home in Heaven, 
You shall have a home in Glory. 



Nj 



